


the dream that you wish will come true

by seventhstar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella Elements, Curses, Fairy Tale Style, M/M, Sleeping Beauty Elements, True Love's Kiss, tangled elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar





	the dream that you wish will come true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehobbem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbem/gifts), [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts), [thehandsingsweapon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehandsingsweapon/gifts), [Yuena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuena/gifts).



I.

Once upon a time, there was a prince.

On the day this prince was presented at court, a small pale babe swaddled in silks, there was much rejoicing, for it was known that the two queens had longed for a child for many years. There was a great feast at the palace, and couriers were sent to every corner of the kingdom to deliver food and wine to every one of the queens’ subjects. And at this celebration, as the queen took the baby into her arms to introduce him, three fairies appeared to give their blessing.

The first fairy was called Lilia, and she bestowed on him beauty. The second was called Minako, and she bestowed on him talent. And the third was called Celestino, and he bestowed on him ambition. And then, as the queen lifted her glass to toast her wife and son, a fourth fairy appeared.

The fourth fairy was called Georgi, and he had not been invited. While the other fairies feasted with queens and princes, he had been weeping, his heart broken. The sound of music and laughter chafed at him. He arrived at the feast in storm and thunder.

One queen bade him sit down and eat with them; the other bade him drink their wine and make merry.

“I, too, have a gift for this child,” Georgi said. He sneered as he bent over the prince’s cradle. “One day, the prince will find his true love. And when they kiss, he will die!”

The queens begged him for mercy, and the three fairies protested, and finally Georgi was moved.

“Very well,” he said, “he will only fall into a deep sleep, from which he will never wake!”

On that day black curtains were hung in hall instead of tapestries; the musicians were sent away, the guests turned out, the fires left to burn down to nothing. The two queens mourned for their son, whose fate had been writ before he had even lived.

 

II.

The prince grew up.

Everything that could be done to protect him was done. His mothers feared that he would fall in love, so they forbade anyone to see him or touch him. They feared that someone might fall in love with him on sight—for as the fairies had said, he was beautiful and talented and ambitious—so they confined him to a tower in the palace, behind a locked door. They feared that he would try to escape, so they invented a thousand dangers to keep him indoors. And they feared he would grow stagnant in isolation, so they gave him each and every thing he could desire: books and fine clothes and delicate meals.

But even so, the prince changed from a boy to a man. The tower became stifling to him. He discovered that the servants who delivered his food and possessions could be bribed, and so the prince traded some of his finery for the few things that were forbidden him: wine, and newspapers, and above all, novels.

It was in this way that the prince learned about love.

Love was a strange and wondrous force. The love that filled the prince’s novels was all-encompassing, all-consuming. The prince had never had so much as a friend, but for the dog that was his constant companion. He had never had anyone who was wholly his own.

The more the prince thought of it, the more forlorn he became.

“Will I die here?” he asked. “Am I to spend the whole of my life in this tower, without one moment of companionship or affection?”

The idea was intolerable, and so the prince, who was talented and ambitious and beautiful, set his mind to the task of finding love.

 

III.

In the palace there were servants who were tasked with the care of the prince, who had the queens’ absolute trust. Not one of them would have disobeyed the crown, but one of them had a son, who sometimes took his father’s place when his father was ill. It was this man, who was called Christophe, who smuggled the prince his books and wine in exchange for silk and gold. And it was this man that the prince decided to befriend.

“If I had a friend,” the prince reasoned, “through them I might meet others, and among their friends I might find a lover.”

To remove the prince from the tower was treason. The prince’s first attempts to convince Christophe were fruitless. But his pleas became more desperate, his state more severe, until finally Christophe began to feel cruel denying him. Surely, he reasoned, one night’s amusement could not hurt the prince.

“Very well,” he said, “if you can disguise yourself, there is a small party among the servants here this very night.”

And so, disguised as a servant in ash-stained cuffs and worn shoes, the prince left his tower for the first time.

 

IV.

As the prince, whose isolation made even the single fiddle and informal dance of a party of servants overwhelming, observed them from the side of the room, a young man with dark eyes and dark hair approached him.

“Excuse me,” he said to the prince, his cheeks flushed from the wine. “Would you like to dance?”

The prince had danced without a partner for the whole of his short life.

“Oh,” the prince said. Within him a single bud began to bloom. “I would.”

 

V.

The prince did not know the name of his beloved, or where he lived, or how he made his living. Another man could have found it out easily, but the prince, confined to his tower, had no way of knowing. Christophe left the palace. The prince had no entertainment but his own melancholy thoughts. Before long, he fell into a depression.

The prince had never had to conceal anything he felt before, and so his misery did not go unnoticed. When his meals were sent back untouched, and he did not trouble himself to call a greeting through the door to the servants when they came, and the sound of music ceased to come from his apartments, word reached the queens of his state.

They came during the evening, to find the prince reclining on a fainting couch with a glum look.

“My son,” said the queen, “what ails you?”

The prince nearly told them all. He had never before kept a secret from his honored parents. But as he opened his lips to speak, a shadow passed over his heart. For was it not his parents who had arranged his confinement?

So he did not tell his mother of the dark-eyed man who had waltzed him about the kitchens. He did not tell them of the cup of wine they had shared. He did not tell them of the warmth of that man’s hands.

Instead he said, “Mama, at the foot of my tower there is a garden. Might I sit out there in the evenings?”

 

VI.

The next morning, the prince woke to the sound of hammers pounding. Every window in the tower, but for the topmost one, was being boarded up; the door at the bottom of the tower was bricked over; and when the prince looked out the last little window, the garden he had spoken of had been torn up, leaving only a pile of untidy dirt.

The prince went to the wall, and called, through the little slit that had been left open, for a servant. But though he demanded first one queen, than the other, no one came. So the prince beat at the walls, then at the windows, until finally he retreated to the highest room, where a slice of the moonlit sky could still be seen. And he wept.

 

VII.

The prince’s despair soon hardened into determination, for the difficulty set his desire further in stone. He explored every inch of his tower, searching for some way out. Unlike the castles in his novels, there were no secret passages, no doors behind the tapestries, no levers concealed as books. He could not reach the lock on the door through the slit in the brick wall, nor could he climb from the window without risking his life.

Still the prince did not give up hope. He searched every floor of the tower, every page of every book and in every trunk and wardrobe, certain that his freedom would be contained in one of them. And after a moon had passed, and  he had only the topmost floor to search, his luck turned.

For in the topmost tower there was a dusty box, and inside the box were three gleaming jewels. These were gifts from the three fairies who had blessed the prince at birth. The prince rejoiced at having found them, and set out to discover their magic, that he might be off at once.

The first jewel was yellow, and had been given him to by the fairy Lilia, and when the prince put it in his pocket he found himself wearing the most splendid set of clothing he had ever seen. The second was red, and had been given to him by the fairy Minako, and when the prince turned it over three times in his hand, his beloved dog turned into a horse, with a fine tack and saddle. And the third jewel was blue and had been given to him by the fairy Celestino, and when the prince pressed his lips to it, it fell apart to reveal a pair of gleaming gold rings and a gleaming gold mask.

Each of the fairies’ gifts was more wondrous than the last, but not one of them could grant the prince his freedom. He despaired again, and threw the box aside. From the box a fourth jewel rolled across the floor, and rested at the prince’s feet.

The fourth jewel was black, and though the prince put it in his pocket, and turned it over, and kissed it, it did not reveal its powers. The prince’s hopes wilted. He laid down so that he might see the sky through the window, and as the sun set, he closed his eyes, and cried out, “I wish that I could see him again!”

And at once the black jewel glowed—and when the prince opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

 

VIII.

Once upon a time, a pair of innkeepers had a son.

Their son was an ordinary boy, until one night, when a storm brought an old beggar woman to the their door. The innkeepers were good-hearted; the old woman was given a seat by the fire, and food and wine, and the innkeepers asked her for neither thanks nor money. The old woman was really the fairy Minako, and when the storm ended, she promised the innkeepers that she would reward their kindness.

And so when the boy was a little older, the fairy Minako came again, and took the boy away to teach him the art of dance.

Deep in the heart of the forest was where she lived. Some nights, when the moon was full, she would open the doors to her grand manor, and host a masquerade. It was known that anyone who wished could attend the masquerade, so long as they remained masked, so long as they came unarmed, and so long as they danced every dance—for it was known that the fairy loved dance more than anything else, and might punish an ungainly dancer if he crossed her.

The innkeeper’s son became her protege, who danced with the light feet of a deer and the grace of a falling star. He was the jewel of her court; he was dark-eyed and dark-haired, and men and women fought to be his partner for every dance.

When the boy grew older, and became a man, he asked, “Teacher, might I be excused tonight?”

“You may not,” Minako always said, “you will not shirk your practice. Your lovers will come and go; dance is eternal.”

It was not in his power to refuse her. So the dancer, each full moon, took to the floor.

 

IX.

The fairy was wrong. The dancer did fall in love, and though his beloved could not be seen or heard, though the dancer had no hope of seeing him again, unfulfilled longing made his bones and heart heavy. His steps grew clumsy; his delicate dancing slippers felt like lead.

The dancer’s devotion to his art shrank; his love grew.

 

X.

“Teacher,” the dancer asked, “might I be excused tonight?”

“Never,” the fairy said, “you will dance until you forget him entirely.”

Though the dancer was melancholy, he was still beautiful, and he had no shortage of partners. He took his place, and did as the fairy commanded.

His first partner had dark hair and violet eyes, and a brother than trailed her like a jealous shadow. Did he know, she asked, who that man was? For one of the guests that night had arrived on a magnificent horse, which seemed to know how to act with no direction from its rider.

The dancer did not trouble himself to lift his eyes from the floor, and said that he had not.

His second partner had golden hair and green eyes, and wore the skin of a tiger over his shoulders. Did he know, he asked, who that gaudily dressed man was? For one of the guests that night had arrived in a fine suit of clothes, which glittered and gleamed in the thousand burning candles that lit the ballroom.

The dancer did not trouble himself to look over his shoulder, and said that he had not.

His third partner had dark hair and dark eyes, and there was ash smeared around his eyes as if he were in mourning. Did he know, he asked, who that man was, whose eyes were so blue and who never looked away from the dancer? For one of the guests that night wore a golden mask over blue eyes, and was entirely enamored with him.

The dancer lifted his head, and looked over his shoulder, and saw him.

“Excuse me,” the prince said, his hands outstretched. “Would you like to dance?”

“Oh,” the dancer said, and he felt his heart open, like the jasmine did at night. “I would.”

 

XI.

The fairy Minako did not allow the dancer to have any partner more than once, and so the dancer led the prince out of the ballroom and into the fairy garden, where flowers grew abundant and bright. Overhead, a thousand shining stars paid court to an enormous moon, framed by the dark heads of trees. But though the prince had longed always for green grass and soft petals, he could only see the dancer’s face; the entire world seemed to be contained in his beloved’s eyes.

There was much to say between them, and they stumbled to speak every word. They exchanged names. The prince told the dancer of his tower, of the dog he loved, of the two queens who were his mothers, of the mysterious fairy gifts that had carried him here. The dancer told the prince of the inn where he had lived, of the dances he had performed and the music he had heard.

“All magic has a price,” the dancer said, “and no spell can last forever. You must return to your tower; those jewels cannot be trusted.”

“I cannot,” the prince said, “to be imprisoned again would be intolerable. How can I bear it?”

Neither of them wished to harm the other, and yet they could not come to any agreement. They paced up and down the garden paths, hand in hand. Then the ballroom doors opened again, and fearing they would be caught, the dancer begged the prince to go.

“Hide yourself,” he said, “the fairy will not like it if she sees us together.”

“I shall do as you say,” the prince said.

The dancer, certain that the fairy would send the prince away if she caught him, and despairing of it, did what any desperate lover might do: he took the prince’s face in his hands, and took off his mask, and kissed him squarely.

 

XII.

In the ballroom, the fairy Georgi, with ash smeared around his eyes as if he were in mourning, laughed.

 

XIII.

When the two queens put on white to mourn their son, all the kingdom went into mourning with them. Before long every house had white banners over their windows, and their fires put out, and was filled with families with ash-stained faces. The prince was laid in a box lined with velvet, and the queens ordered him to be carried away, where he might be enshrined in the tower where he had lived for all eternity.

The dancer threw himself over the prince, and wept, and would not be moved, though the queens’ soldiers did everything in their power to drag him away. He begged the queen to leave the prince where he was, rather than return him to the prison he had hated.

Finally the fairy Minako herself tried to persuade him.

“It is pointless to weep over him, for you have no power to wake him,” she said, “think of him as dead and come with me. Devote yourself to dance again.”

The dancer could not answer her, not without saying poisonous words that he might regret. Instead he removed his dancing slippers and tossed them aside.

And with bare feet sinking into the grass, the dancer asked Minako, “Who is it who has the power to wake the prince? Where can I find him?”

 

XIV.

The fairy Georgi lived at the top of a mountain. The dancer had nothing: not a crust of bread, not a threadbare cloak, not even a candle to light his way. He walked through the forest until the he reached the base of the mountain; the path behind him was red with his blood. He limped up the mountain through the snow, until his wounds froze in the cold and turned blue. He crawled on his hands and knees until he knelt at the fairy’s doorstep with raw palms.

“Georgi!” the dancer cried. “Georgi! Georgi! Come out and face me!”

 

XV.

Thrice named, the fairy Georgi had no choice but to appear.

The dancer pleaded with him to release the prince from his curse, but the fairy refused. His heart was still broken, he said, and as long as his love remained unrequited he would never give anyone else the pleasure of mutual attachment. The dancer begged, then wept, then raged, but the fairy would not be moved.

Yet when the fairy tried to leave, the dancer called his name three times and summoned him back. In this way the fairy was forced to endure the dancer’s lamentations for three days and three nights. Finally the fairy Georgi grew so vexed that he agreed to lift the curse, on one condition.

“What I have worked upon the prince is a great magic,” Georgi said, “and it cannot be undone without a price. What will you give me in exchange for it?”

The dancer had nothing to offer but his life, but he offered it up at once.

“No,” the fairy Georgi said, “that will not do.” Then he smiled cunningly and said, “Your prince was gifted three times by fairies at his birth.”

The dancer agreed that this was so.

“Then will you give up all your beauty, and all your talent, and all your ambition in exchange for him?”

“I will,” said the dancer.

“You will not be fit for love then,” the fairy said. “You will not be wanted. The misery that is mine will be yours as well.”

“So be it,” the dancer said, for he remembered keenly the prince’s face, and knew well all the hopes and dreams that had been contained within him in the moments before they had kissed. Whatever fears he held, his love for the prince banished them, and he sealed the bargain with the fairy in blood.

 

XVI.

Stripped of his beauty, the dancer’s face was left mangled. Stripped of his talent, the dancer could hardly walk, let alone dance. Stripped of his ambition, the dancer was weighed down with fatigue.

The fairy left him in the garden where he had begun, and when the dancer opened his weary eyes, the prince was awake.

 

XVII.

The fairy Georgi, armed with the beauty and talent and ambition he had taken from the dancer, went in search of the lady who had spurned him. She was called Anya, and she was a queen, who ruled over a dark country a long way away. The fairy took the form of a black swan and crossed the sea; he took the form of a black stag and ran through the forests; finally he took his own shape as a man and requested an audience with the queen.

Anya, when she saw him, spurned him again; he was nothing to her, she said, and demanded he remove himself immediately. The fairy saw garlands of flowers hanging on the walls, and a glittering jewel on Anya’s finger, and realized that she was engaged to another. He flew into a rage, and before long decided that the wedding would not be.

So when the day of the wedding came, and the finest dancers in all Anya’s kingdom presented themselves to entertain the bride and groom, Georgi contrived to be one of them. And thus disguised, he danced for the queen. He danced with great passion, and perfect form, and deep emotion, but though the audience wept to see him, Anya did not look away from the face of her husband; she did not love him any more than she had before.

 

XVIII.

So Georgi returned to the country where two queens ruled, first as a swan, then as a stag, then in his own fearsome shape. He turned into a crow to spy upon the dancer, who he was certain had cheated him somehow in their bargain. But when he glimpsed the dancer, through the windows of the prince’s palace, the dancer still lacked his former beauty, his former talent, and his former ambition.

And yet the dancer was happy.

Though there were those who jeered at his altered face, the prince did not think him ugly, nor did the dancer’s family and friends, and his reputation in the palace was for his kindness, not for his looks. Though the dancer still stumbled when he walked and could not even manage the simplest waltz, in the tower the prince installed rails on every wall that the dancer might never fall, and opened every ball with him no matter how often the dancer failed to keep time with the music. Though the dancer still tired easily, when he could not walk the prince sat with him in the gardens, and when he lay in bed they read the prince’s favorite novels together.

And though the dancer had given up much, the prince continue to love him, and he continued to love the prince, and they wore the rings that the fairy Celestino had given the prince as a mark of their devotion.

Georgi’s wrath when he saw this was terrible to behold: though he had gained all the dancer’s virtues, the dancer remained loved and in love, and it was Georgi who remained tormented by unrequited desire. He stamped his feet, and pounded the ground with his fists, and finally flew into such a fit of anger that he tore himself to pieces.

 

XIX.

One morning the dancer woke to find himself restored to his previous state. He knew at once that Georgi was dead, and used his returned beauty and talent and ambition to fulfill his greatest desire.

He ran through the palace to the prince’s side, and kissed him soundly. The prince did not die, nor did he fall asleep; he kissed the dancer in return, and they went on together in love. They ruled the country with great wisdom and compassion; they flung open the palace doors and windows in summer so that anyone who wished might come and go freely; they took care to invite every fairy to the yearly feasts to avoid ever being cursed again.

 

XX.

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
